Blitzkrieg Leap
by NewtonLangly
Summary: It's 1975 and Sam Beckett finds himself being apart of the newest movement of expression. Punk Music. Only to prevent the death of a young musician


Quantum Leap is owned by Bellisarius Productions and any other company. This is a work of amusement and practice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Summary: It's 1975 and things are pretty crappy in the Big Apple. Sam Beckett finds himself in the middle of a revolution that many of the city's young people are into to express their anger and resentment at the world. That form of expression is known as punk music.

  
  


Author's note: Well I hope you enjoy the fic and if I get some details wrong one has to remember that this is a fanfic and bare with me on them. Thank You.

  
  


Blitzkrieg Leap

  
  
  
  


When Sam Beckett came out of his leap, he found himself in the middle of a crowd. There were shouts and screams and Sam couldn't hear a thing.

As he look through the throng of people he noticed he was in some kind of club and that on stage. There were four young men with long black hair, black leather jackets, and they were pounding on instruments. Even with his Swiss-cheesed memory, Sam knew that the four musicians on stage were not the Beatles.

"Oh, Boy" He said over the blearing music.

  
  
  
  


May 21, 1975

  
  


Sam had no idea what music was being played but he was conflicted as to what he was listening to. A part of him hated it another part loved every second of it. The only words he could hear in the song were "Hey Ho Let's Go!"

The crowd went crazy as they jumped in front of the performers and Sam couldn't stand much more of it and he made his way through the crowd to the bar nearby. But the place was small and he couldn't escape the people.

There was a mirror behind the bar that reflected club and it the lighting revealed his reflection. Sam saw a youthful face obscured with wire rim glasses and long brown hair. He looked to see that he was wearing a trench coat, jeans, and a shirt that read: Community Pool Staff. Sam had no idea of whom he was or what this place was.

"SAM!" The always familiar voice called out. "Over here!" Al Calavicci called out. He pointed towards the door. Sam hoped it led to the outside. Sam once again went through the crowd and out into the warm night. 

Outside wasn't any better as it was inside. There was a crowd form outside and they were yelling at Sam. "Gonzo, what are they doing in there?" Someone shouted.

"Gonzo?" Sam asked

"Yeah, what are they doing?"

Sam tried to answer but Al gestured him towards an alley next to the building. 

"Uh, I'll tell you later." Sam followed Al into the alley. He couldn't believe what he got himself into and for once the people he was around with had worse fashion taste than Al.

"This is something that I couldn't get into." Al said to himself.

"What is going on Al?" Sam demanded

Al looked at his handlink. "Well it's May 21, 1975 and your in New York City. In fact you're in the Bowery section of Manhattan."

"That doesn't help me, Al!"

"Well Ziggy states that your name is Paul Silverberg and you live in Queens, NY. You're an 18-year-old high school senior who makes money writing articles for a local magazine that covers the New York punk scene. Apparently you've been getting fans and they've been calling you. . ."

"Gonzo"

"Right, Gonzo. That's because that's how some people find you're writing. But Ziggy states it's because of Silverberg's fascination with Hunter S. Thompson. Apparently, he becomes a very well known journalist for the New York Times.

"Al, why am I covering this music?"

"Now hold on a second there Sam. Don't discount what's going on here."

"Well what is going on here?"

"It's simple Sam, this is 1975. And at this moment many young people are sick and angry at the world they live in. I mean they've gone through Vietnam, Watergate, and things aren't going well in New York. At this time the city is teetering on bankruptcy. So for many this is a way to express themselves without committing violence. Besides that was done in the 60's."

"That's very interesting Al, but why am I here?"

Al picked up his handlink and turned it on and punched in several commands. "Ziggy says there is an 89% you're here to write a story involving your friend's new band-" Al grimaced at what it said next. "Prostate Exam."

"That's the name of the band?"

"Well punk music has some very creative names. Such as F-Minus, The Clash, Dropkick Murphy's. ."

"I get the point."

"Gonzo!" Some shouted from the street.

"Oh Sam, someone's calling you."

Sam turned to see a guy about his age wearing jeans, leather jacket, and a Whip Inflation Now pin which read "WIN" in white letters against a red background.

"Chatting Feet are coming up next, man." The guy called out.

"Be there in a second." Sam shouted back. "Who's that?'

"That's your friend Frank Washington. Remember Sam just go along. It's not hard." 

Sam watched as a couple wore matching mohawks and had multiple piercings in their faces.

"That's easy for you to say, Al."

Sam returned from the alley and walked with his "Friend" Frank.

"So how were they in there?" Frank asked

"Who?"

"Oh don't pull a Ford on me man, you know who I'm talking about. The Ramones!"

"Yeah the Ramones."

"Well how were they?"

"They were good, loud to say the least." 

Frank laughed. "I'm sure you'll have more to say tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah when you hand in your review of the show tonight."

"Oh boy"

  
  


Sam spent the next few hours trying not to have his eardrums bleed as he listened to the pounding music. Although at some points he wondered if that was even music that was coming out of the speakers. It seemed more like screaming that anything else. But the next morning Sam found himself face down in his bed. He was dead tired and couldn't get up.

"Paul!" A voice shouted through the wall. "Get up for school."

"School?"

"You don't want to be late!" Shouted the voice for who must've been Paul's mother.

Sam picked himself up from his bed and looked around through his groggy eyes. Everything appeared to be normal in the room and there on a desk was a typewriter with a piece of paper already stuck on it. Sam noticed some writing on the paper. He went over and pulled the sheet out of the typewriter:

Spread em for Prostate Examination

By Paul Silverberg 

Twist Staff Writer

  
  


That's all on the paper. Sam opened up the drawers and found several papers that had articles and under the bed were copies of this magazine that Paul wrote for. Twist was a cheaply printed magazine that had black and white photos of various people on the stage in various poses of anger. Sam did his best to follow the magazine but he was going to have difficulty understanding the world that was Punk.

School wasn't difficult for Sam and neither was for Paul. Apparently he had very high grades and the applications for Columbia and New York University that his teachers asked about also showed it.

He was walking through the halls in clothes that appeared to be cleaned if one did not smell them closely. He noticed Frank coming up fast.

"So what's the gospel of gonzo going to say about the show this Saturday night?"

"Oh probably, something very good"

"That's what I was looking for, Paul. Now I'd to see where you work but the fact is me and the band got to practice. So I'll see you later."

"Yeah same here"

Frank walked off in a hurry. Sam wondered what why it was important for him to write that article.

He looked over at the trophy case and saw a door open in front of the case. Out came Al and he punched in a couple of commands to close the door behind him.

"You doing okay, Sam?"

"Yeah I guess."

"Why not we go somewhere where we won't get noticed."

Sam walked down and noticed the school library was empty with the exception of a librarian who was working away at sorting books. 

Sam went deep into the library and went to a corner where he wouldn't be noticed.

"Al why is it important for me to get this thing done?"

"Why? There's a very important answer to that."

"Well what is it? Is it for money, fame?"

Al shook his head. "No, Sam, that's not what Punk is about."

"Then why is this important?"

"Because when Paul failed to the article it led to a chain of events that led to the death of Frank."

"No"

"Yes, in fact in an article dated two years from now. Frank is found dead due to suicide."

"Why?"

"They never found the exact reason. But rumors swirled from him being depressed about his life and how it never amounted to anything. He was jealous of Paul because he's at college and doing well and Frank is still in his parent's basement flipping burgers."

"Then what prevented Paul from writing the article?"

"Apparently his boss at the magazine wasn't told about it and then he got angry at Paul because he was supposed to cover something else."

"So all I have to do is just tell Paul's boss about this new band."

"Ziggy thinks so."

"Well, how much so?"

"It's about 85 percent."

"Wasn't it just 89 percent?"

"It was?" Al said as he squinted at the handlink. "Oh right, don't worry Sam these percentages are volatile sometimes. Anyway go down to the magazine office tell your boss and then you'll leap out of here."

"Okay then give me the address."

Al did and then when school let out, Sam made his way to the offices of Twist Magazine. Although when he got there, it wasn't so much an office as it was a crumbling abandoned building in lower Manhattan. 

After making his way through mountains of garbage and several panhandlers. He got inside the building and sure enough on the first floor was a door that read: Twist Magazine. Sam tried the knob and found it unlocked. He walked inside. 

It was a large room with a few desks and some people working away at their typewriters. A section of the room was blocked off with walls and Sam guessed that was where the printing presses for the magazine was.

"Paul, got anything to drop off?" A voice asked him

Sam turned his head and noticed a tall and very skinny man standing next to him.

"Uh, not yet, but I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Well you know where that's done. In my office."

Sam and the man went outside of the office and walked into the buildings crumbling bathroom.

"So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going to cover this new band this Saturday."

"What band?"

"Prostate Exam, sir."

"Good write what you want. We need any article we can get our hands on."

"Why's that?"

"I never realized how hard it is to run a magazine. But you've been good to me and I thank you for it."

"Thanks"

"Anyway, just get the article before deadline."

"When's that?"

"Oh don't do that Gonzo, it's Sunday, always Sunday."

"Right, I'll have it done by then."

"Good, is that all you want to ask me?"

Sam nodded.

"Good now go out there and rattle some cages. That's what this whole thing is about."

"What is?"

His boss laughed. "What Rock and Roll was to the 50's, punk will be for the 70's."

"I thought disco was the thing in the 70's?" Sam asked

"Disco!," he snorted. "I mean it's big in the village but since when is ma and pa going to prance on some colored floor?"

Sam didn't want to argue with the man. He thought since getting his boss' approval, he would leap out now, but he didn't.

He and his boss said goodbye and Sam walked out of the building and back out on the streets. As Sam walked along the gritty streets of Manhattan he noticed all the poverty and dismal conditions that were around him. When he past a bum lying on a park bench. He noticed a newspaper headline that stood out to him. It was the New York Daily News and in big bold letters it said "FORD TO CITY: DROP DEAD!". Sam wondered at this point if New York was?

When he turned the corner that would take him back to the subway station. Al was there smoking a cigar and waiting.

"Al, I did what Ziggy said I haven't leaped." 

"That was expected."

"Why?"

"When you talked to your boss, history changed. And something else happened."

"What?"

"Now when Frank Washington goes up stage he's not going to leave it."

"Why?"

"Because during the show there's an accident that caused Frank to bleed to death."

Sam stopped walking and looked in shock. "What happened?"

Al punched several commands into the handlink. "According to the police report, Frank was moving about the row in front of the stage when he decided to imitate an act that Iggy Pop did back in '73."

"Iggy Pop?"

"Anyway what had happened was that Pop moving around and some how had cut himself on a cocktail glass. This was pretty nasty, I mean the cuts were so deep every time he move blood was shoot out of him."

"What happened to Frank?"

"Well Frank does the same thing except the glass cuts him in the neck and severs a major artery, he was dead before the paramedics came."

"Then I got to be there and make sure no one has any glass anywhere near the stage."

"I don't think that's possible, Sam. These shows can get very wild and with the people jumping around it is impossible to control such things. And it was rumored that Frank brought the glass with him."

"You're kidding?"

"I wouldn't kid about this kind of thing, Sam."

Sam knew that he couldn't stop Frank from performing all he could do was to make sure that he wouldn't die in the process.

  
  


The day for the performance came and Sam was dressed in practically the same clothes he wore two nights ago. He was told that the show would be held in the in another dingy cramped club in the Bowery district. Sam found Frank getting ready behind the stage.

"Paul, you came man." Frank said excitedly as he was tuning his base.

"Yeah I'm gonna be covering the show for the magazine."

"Aw that would great getting some noticed in the public eye."

"Yeah maybe get a record deal."

A member of Frank's band came over and glared at Sam. "Look Gonzo we ain't in this for money. That's not what this is for."

Frank looked over, "Calm down, he's the writer."

"Right, the band member said. "The enemy." He went back to his drum set.

"So where are you going to be in the audience?"

"I'll be in the front row."

"Good, be prepared for some wild stuff tonight."

"Yeah, just remember Frank not to do anything dangerous. Besides I'm sure the ear damage will be enough."

Frank chuckled. "Cute Paul real cute. Now if you'll excuse me, we need to do a sound check."

Sam walked away from the stage and went into the area there were tables and chairs set up. He picked himself a seat right in the middle figuring not being near the speakers would be a wise idea.

After ten minutes passed, Frank came out onto the stage and several people from the audience applauded. 

"Thank you, thank you. Before we'd like to start. I just want to say I'm glad you came and see me vent some frustration. It's nice thing to do and great in front of the kids."

Sam heard a couple of laughs.

"Well sit back and enjoy some wholesome entertainment."

The curtain lifted behind him revealing the three other member of the band. "1-2-3" Frank shouted and then erupted a sound that Sam was having trouble to listen to without ear plugs. Hopefully he would leap out before Paul had to write the article. Otherwise, it was going to be difficult to put a positive spin on it.

He listened through songs that included such titles as "Turn you head and cough", "Spirit of '76" and "Lie, die, and fry".

Frank started to move around the stage in a strange matter during the fourth song "Realization". It almost looked like the guy was having a seizure. He jumped, pranced, and skipped his way across the stage. It was a very strange sight. He then set his sights on the front row and jumped off of the stage with microphone in hand. 

The crowd was getting into it and baited Frank to do more wild stuff. Sam turned to see that Frank was going towards a table that had several cocktail glasses perched on the small scarred table. 

Sam rose up from his seat and went towards Frank hoping he wouldn't hurt himself. Frank didn't notice because he so into his performance that he was about to crash into that table. Sam jumped up and dove right on top of Frank bringing them to a loud crash on to the floor. Everything went quiet for a second as they tried to figure out what was going on.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked

"Saving you life" Sam said he pointed at the table with the glasses. The vibration caused the table to wobble and let a glass dropped to floor splintering into several shards near the two of them.

"See what I mean." Sam said 

Frank nodded. 

"Keep it up you're doing great." Sam said with a smile.

"Thanks"

Sam moved away from Frank and picked himself up. Then Frank did the same thing.

"Don't worry folks, Gonzo here was just fearful of my safety. We didn't want another Max's Kansas City in here. Besides I see many of you wearing white."

The crowd erupted into laughter and both Sam and Frank beamed in the spotlight. After a couple of minutes the show continued.

After what seemed like only a few minutes. Two hours had gone by and Sam felt great. There was something about this music that although could be grating was also very energetic.

"Paul we're having a little party out in the back." Frank told him as he packed up the instruments.

"Be there in a second." Sam told him

In the now emptying club, Sam noticed a man standing, he was smoking a cigar but Sam couldn't smell it. It was Al.

"I did it." Sam said to him

Al nodded. "You did."

"What happens to Frank?"

"Well Frank continues with his band and do in fact cut a couple of albums in the next few years. While they weren't successes, he becomes another part of the punk legacy. He's a comedy writer for television now."

"That's great and Paul?"

"Well he still becomes a reporter for the New York Times and wins several Pulitzer Prizes. One of them was for his work on the beginnings of punk music.

"That's something, Al."

"It sure is Sam, sure is."

Sam turned to face the stage and looked at it with excitement as the light enveloped him and he leaped.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Sam came out of another leap and he heard the cheers of what must be thousands of people.

"Kid we're on in thirty" A burly man with a head set to him.

Sam looked at himself and he noticed that he was wearing an undershirt, red pants, and a matching red hat. He noticed that there was a spare mirror laying on the ground. Revealing a young man with long blood hair, sunglasses and two tatoos on his arms. One of which Sam recognized as the logo of the Detroit Tigers.

"Who am I?" Sam asked

"Now get yourself ready for the American Bad Ass!" The announcer boomed. "KID ROCK!"

"Oh, Boy!"

  
  


The End


End file.
